Seven in Seven
by the.ravenclaw.woods
Summary: Hermione Granger is bloody sick of having the most pathetic love life of everyone she knows. After reaching the grand old age of thirty, she decides it's time to take matters into her own hands. Enter Charlie Weasley, who's about to have one of the most surprising- and sexiest- weeks of his life. -Five parts! Lemons galore!-
1. The List of Eligible Meat Puppets

_I'm sick in bed and decided to cheer myself up with a story of my OTP. Woo!_

 _This story will be five parts and is already finished (thanks, cold!). I'll be updating every other day or so._

 _Ever read a fic that's so awesome that you think, holy cow, I want to see this done with HG x CW? No? Just me?_

 _This is entirely inspired by Toodleoo's "Hermione's Proposition." Do have a read if you haven't yet. It's great._

* * *

It all started with a vibrator.

Electric violet, glowing with each vibratory rhythm, extremely anatomically… optimistic.

It was Hermione's thirtieth birthday party, and she couldn't imagine a gift less welcome in her life. Especially when Gin slapped her back with a mouthful of whisky, "Now you'll finally get to pop that cherry, eh, 'Mione?"

"Oh, come on, Ginny. Hermione's no virgin," Fleur responded.

"But it's been so bloody long, chances are things have sewn themselves back together again!"

More laughter. More glugs of alcohol. And more internal seething from a one Hermione Granger.

Sure, she had given up on sex years ago. She had found it just wasn't for her.

Not that she'd tell the girls that. Oh, not a chance in Hades. Especially now that Fleur, Audrey and Ginny were discussing the most orgasms they'd had in one go.

"Five," Audrey said, sipping her pinot.

"You lucky duck," Fleur had responded. "Bill has only ever gotten me there twice in one night. And it's been ages at that!"

"I beat all of you," Gin said, counting to seven, slowly, with her fingers.

"Seven!" Fleur gasped.

Hermione snorted.

"What? Don't believe me? Ask Harry for yourself, 'Mione!"

"I will be doing no such thing!"

"Come on, Gin. It's her birthday," Audrey said, giving Gin a look. One that explicitly stated, _remember how upset Hermione gets when we talk about sex?_

"Right," Gin responded. "Onward to the next pub!"

When Hermione arrived home that night, she threw back preemptive hangover potions and pulled out the violet vibrator, which she'd been referring to in her head as the One-eyed, One-horned, Flying Purple People Eater.

After extensive cleansing spells and the helpful addition of coconut oil, she whisked off her knickers and slid the one-eyed beast inside her, flicking it on.

She let it stay on the inside for a bit as she experimented with the settings. One was a nice, dull beat. Another nearly sent her flying off the bed as it wriggled in absurd spasms. She essentially went through its entire arsenal within four minutes.

And nothing felt… good.

She even let it slide along her clit, but that was entirely too much _sensation_. How on earth did women use things like this?

After the whole ordeal, she threw the Purple People Eater in the bin.

She tried not to cry herself to sleep. But she was, after all, now Hermione Granger Who Can't Even Work it Out With a Prosthetic Purple Knob.

Pathetic indeed.

x

The next day, however, found a Hopeful Hermione Granger.

"I deserve happiness, right, Crooks?"

The elderly cat flicked its tail as his eyes followed her pacing.

"I deserve to know what good sex is like. After all, I am a woman. Designed just like all the others, with all the bits and the bobs. I'm fully capable of enjoying myself during the act."

Crookshanks closed his eyes, but Hermione didn't notice.

"And I'm bloody thirty years old. I deserve to know what it's like to come with a penis inside me. A real penis! Not a purple one!" She paused to wonder if there was some sort of magical ailment that may leave a wizard with a literal purple parsnip.

No matter. She would not amend her declaration, having prefered flesh-colored trouser-snakes, anyhow.

So Hermione set about doing what she did best.

Writing a list.

x

 **1\. Sirius Black**

Pros: Bloody hot; bloody experienced.

Cons: Harry's godfather. Close. Maybe awkward to run into for every Potter family event.

 **2\. Fred Weasley**

Pros: Could make sex fun and light-hearted.

Cons: Could humiliate me. Not that he'd do it purposefully, but the girls were right, am a bit sensitive on these matters. Also, like Sirius, could be awkward at family events.

 **3\. Dean Thomas**

Pros: Handsome and fit. Intelligent.

Cons: Just divorced. Perhaps would get emotionally involved if lonely? Also, workmates. Could be awkward.

After a few more candidates, it became clear to Hermione that she'd needed to branch out. The awkward-factor was something she was truly concerned about, especially considering the sensitive nature of her objective.

She moved on to all the wizards she knew who currently lived out of the country.

 **1\. Blaise Zabini**

Pros: Probably excellent in bed; intelligence underneath smart-arsery.

Cons: Would most certainly humiliate me. Not certain if has put blood purity behind him.

 **2\. Viktor Krum**

Pros: Handsome, ripped and doesn't talk much. Know first hand has a very nice, flesh-colored meat puppet.

Cons: Married.

 **3\. Charlie Weasley**

Her pen stopped.

Charlie?

It was the first of the out-of-country options that seemed entirely plausible. After a decade of assuming Charlie was gay, he'd brought Pamela to a Weasley birthday (Hermione could scarcely remember which now, there were so bloody many- not that it mattered, she wasn't able to attend), much to the shrieking delight of Molly. He and Pam dropped the broom a year ago, (she was there when Molly found out and had to comfort the hour of tears that came afterward). He'd since happily returned to bachelorhood, where he intended to stay for a good, long while. According to Ginny, at least, who heard it from George, who'd Extendable-Eared a floo conversation Charlie'd had with Bill.

Hermione returned to her list.

 **3\. Charlie Weasley**

Pros: Ripped and handsome in a rugged sort of way. Kind. Lives in Romania.

Cons:

Hermione hesitated. Certainly, things could get awkward at the one or two Weasley events that pulled Charlie out of the reserve every year. Certainly, though, she could simply avoid him after the fact. It wasn't as though there was lost love or even lost friendship to be concerned about.

The only true con would be if Charlie were secretly in a relationship, which she doubted. She was pretty sure Gin had said that George had said that Charlie had said after the way things ended with Pamela, he wished he'd never given the idea of relationships a go. Or was it, he'd be about as stupid as a flobberworm to ever date a witch again? Certainly something to that effect, anyhow.

 **3\. Charlie Weasley**

Pros: Ripped and handsome in a rugged sort of way. Kind. Lives in Romania.

Cons: None applicable.

x

After a few floo calls in the following days, Hermione secured herself a one-week stay at the Romanian reservation. She frequently went on trips like this for her position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Meaning no one batted an eye at her proposition to spend some field time with the three newly discovered dragons from the last couple years.

And, after letting it slip to Molly that she'd be in Romania next week, within a day Charlie had owled her, insisting she stay with him on the reserve.

Hermione smiled as she signed her name accepting his hospitality.

And prayed she hadn't made one enormously daft mistake.


	2. Broomsticks and Cauldrons

_I'm astounded by the response for this fic! Thank you so much!_

 _The parts of this fic are generally on the short side. This chapter is by far the longest. I could've cut it down, but I wanted to leave a little lemony treat there at the end. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Hermione Granger," Charlie bellowed, greeting her with a smile.

"Hey, Charlie," Hermione said, not sure if she ought to hug him. It'd been, what, two years since she last laid eyes on the bloke? Maybe a handshake would suffice. But before she could push her arm out, he'd already grabbed her luggage.

"Let me give you the tour," he said.

The dorm cabin was quaint and warm, if a bit on the small side. It smelled entirely like applewood, with the walls made of smooth logs, knit-covered furniture here and there. The guest room echoed the home's aesthetics of tiny and cozy, which Hermione didn't mind one bit. Even if she'd had minded, were she to get her way, she'd be sharing Charlie's bed, anyhow.

After the three-minute tour, Charlie clapped his hands together. "Ready to see some dragons?" he asked.

"Sure!"

x

As Charlie introduced Hermione to Riat, a North American Snowdrop, Hermione took the opportunity to appraise the dragon keeper in her company, as well. Over the top of her clipboard, she noted that Charlie was as brawny as ever, the clear lines of his biceps, triceps and abdominals plain through his thin grey long-sleeved. His hair was thick and auburn, eyes bright and brown. As he bent to indicate the unique crimson of the dragon's nails (a fascinating adaptation to apparently blend in with the wildflower fields of the dragon's country of origin), Hermione noted that— how old was Charlie now? Thirty-seven, thirty-eight? — no thirty-something-year-old ought to have an arse that tight.

Confident now that she'd made the right decision, Hermione considered her approach. Would Charlie be susceptible to mild flirtation? She decided it was worth a shot.

"There's a rumor," Charlie was saying, "that in ancient times, people actually rode Snowdrops to hunt big game."

"Oh, riding dragons," Hermione said. "Bit boring, really, when you can ride a keeper, am I right?"

Charlie cocked his head, furrowing his brow.

Oof. She wasn't going for confused.

"I mean," she added. "That's what we always say at the department. Save a dragon, ride a tamer."

" _That's_ what you always say at the department?" His brow was even more deeply furrowed.

"Oh, you know," Hermione said, waving as she scribbled circles and spirals onto her clip board. "Sex jokes."

While staring at her notes, she felt Charlie watch her for a couple beats before ignoring her sex joke comment entirely, moving on to describe the extreme short-fur of the dragon's belly.

Things went rather downhill from there, as they encountered other keepers and dragonologists. Charlie'd taken to introducing her as "Hermione Granger, savior of the world and my littlest brother's best friend." While she wasn't too keen on being called savior (when, um, they all had heard of Harry Potter, yes?), it was the "littlest brother's best friend" bit that was somewhat gut-punchy. While she and Ron were still good friends, yes, and while Ron was his youngest brother, yes, was it all that necessary to add in _littlest_? It made her feel about twelve years old, a look she was decidedly not going for in matters of seduction.

She needed another approach.

x

By late afternoon, she decided another approach would include a low-cut sweater and the tightest jeans she owned. He'd said they were going to the pub for dinner, so she scratched her plans for the short black dress coupled with thigh-high stilettos. She knew it was stupid to pack the outfit to start with, as it was clear that even if there were dance clubs on the reserve, it wouldn't be the sort of place Charlie Weasley would frequent. So obscene cleavage and arse-lifting jeans it was.

As she walked out to the sitting room, Charlie smiled and led her to the floo.

And he decidedly did _not_ notice her outfit.

He didn't even attempt to look at her breasts for god's sake! Hermione was as straight as a wand herself, but if she saw a witch with this amount of cleavage even she would be checking it out.

In the reflective stone of the floo, she watched his eyes for a moment before walking through. They did not drop to her lifted arse.

She may as well have been wearing a Weasley Christmas sweater that reached her ankles.

At the pub, Charlie made small talk with her, even as she sat obviously distracted, nursing her firewhisky. He was so kind. Maybe he was _too_ kind. She gazed at the brown scruff on his sharp jawbones as he spoke, as well as the tiniest droplet of beer on his full, pink lips.

Was he too much of a gentleman to notice that she did, indeed have breasts? Or was it that he still thought of her as child? Ugh to both theories. Especially the latter. She threw the whisky back and signaled for another.

"Bollocks," Charlie said, ducking down a touch. "Pam's here."

Hermione winced. "Things didn't go down alright with you two?"

Charlie chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. "Bloody dumpster fire, it was."

"Sorry."

He shook his head, glancing over. "No worries, Hermione. She's, ah, over there with her new boyfriend. I just didn't want her to sit with us, you know. She tries to be friendly, which is fine, but—"

"I understand," Hermione said. "Some things are just too awkward to revisit, even in friend form."

"Right." He gave her a brilliant grin, one that actually made her lower stomach warm up. She blinked. That was odd. No, that was good. The fact that a wizard's smile can turn you on is good, Hermione. Get. On. That.

"So you're not seeing anyone?" Hermione asked, forking a piece of grilled chicken in her mouth.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Did my mum tell you to spy on me for her?"

Hermione snorted. "I would never, Charlie. Though I wouldn't be surprised if she asked you to do the same for me, quite honestly. She keeps going on about my uterus as though it were audibly ticking."

Charlie laughed. "She's very pushy, isn't she?"

"Bit of an understatement."

He nodded. "Well, no, then. I'm not seeing anyone. At all. What about you?"

Hermione coughed. She hadn't had enough to drink for this conversation, but, what the hell. "Look, Charlie. There's something I need ask you—"

"Charlie! Hermione!" A dragon keeper she'd met earlier— Armando— was waving and approaching, a gorgeous witch on his arm. "Mind if we join you?"

"Not at all," Hermione said, smiling, gesturing to the booth. She noticed that Charlie was staring at her before joining the conversation (answering dragonly questions like, would Riat's unusually calm demeanor due to adapting to being ridden, and would be be prudent for advanced keepers to attempt to ride him in the future?). But when she glanced into his ale-brown eyes, they darted to the wall and remained well away from her for the rest of their dinner.

Hermione wondered if Charlie Weasley would even bother noticing if she stripped naked.

Luckily, she wasn't tossed enough to attempt it.

x

By the time she and Charlie returned to his cabin, she'd just about had it. She'd wasted nearly twelve hours already, with no hint of Charlie's pork sword to make an appearance now, or ever. She clearly needed to resort to drastic measures, deciding, as he prepared them some tea, that perhaps direct bluntness was the best course of action.

He set down a cup of steaming Earl grey in front of her and sat beside her on the sofa. There was enough space between them for about two and a half Hagrids, so Hermione turned her whole body to face him. Drastic measures, she reminded herself.

"Charlie," she said, imagining that she were presenting a proposal at a department meeting. "I'd like to discuss the possibility of you and me engaging in intercourse."

Charlie promptly choked on his sip of tea, sending droplets all over the sofa as he plopped the cup on the side table. "What?" he finally said. It was almost a shout.

"You, inserting your erect and presumably not-purple broomstick inside, well, my cauldron, if you will."

Charlie stared at her for nearly a full five seconds before standing and stomping around, wand out.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Looking for Fred," he said. "And possibly George."

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

"Because this is clearly a prank, Hermione. Though I haven't the faintest idea why you're participating." He waved his wand over her. "Imperiused, maybe?"

She slapped his arm away. "For fuck's sake, Charlie. You really think I'm offering my body to you as a joke?"

"I'm having a difficult time thinking of any other reason."

Hermione sighed. This was certainly going as terribly as she'd feared. "Sit, please. I will explain."

Charlie sat, but not before investigating the kitchen for any hint of twins. "Yes?"

Hermione swallowed, staring very hard at the tea in her cup. "I hate sex." Her eyes darted up towards him. He had absolutely no expression on his face, though, perhaps, it bordered 'bewildered.' She returned her gaze to her tea cup. "I was wondering if you'd like, during my stay, to help me learn to enjoy it."

She counted to ten awaiting his response. She'd reached nine when he said, "Why me?"

"You're kind. You wouldn't make fun of me." She gestured to his general physique. "I find you, ah, attractive. You're unattached. You wouldn't develop feelings for me, given your disregard for relationships."

"Why not with a bloke you want to be in a relationship with?"

Hermione sighed. "All my relationships have made this sex thing worse. I'm trying something new."

When she looked up again, it Charlie's eyes were at her neck, then collarbone. He lowered them to her cleavage, where he spent a considerable amount of time. He lingered on her hips and thighs, down to her bare feet, and back up again, where her flushed face greeted him.

It was as though he were seeing her for the first time.

"Finished?" she asked.

"Sorry." There was a bit of a twinkle in his eye, meaning he didn't look sorry at all. "Just considering." He leaned back. "Suppose you need more time than a week?"

"It really oughtn't take longer than a week with a competent lover." Hermione'd done all the calculations. "I _will_ find someone more suitable if you're not up for the job, Charlie."

"Yeah? Like who?"

"None of your business." She hadn't meant to snap at him, but there it was.

Feeling defeated, she lowered her head into her hands. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all. Maybe this was the worst idea she'd ever had in her life.

She nearly jumped when she felt him plop right next to her, the warmth of his hip on her thigh. She looked up and he actually had a curious look on his face.

"What don't you like about sex?"

She glanced down. There was so much, really. From how long it took her to come, much to the annoyance of her exes, to how intercourse itself felt like a chore more than anything else to appease said exes. She didn't like feeling like a blow-up doll afterwards, like just some receptacle for sperm because Merlin knew she certainly didn't get anything else out of it.

"I— uh." She cleared her throat. "It feels like nothing to me."

"Like nothing how?" He stared at her even more intently now, and she couldn't bring herself to look away.

"It feels about as nice as doing the dishes or vacuuming the carpets." She shrugged. "I'm under the impression that's not ideal. So I'd like for you to help me learn to enjoy it."

He placed a hand on her knee, tentatively. She wondered if she was being tested or something. His hand certainly didn't help the rate of her breath or the warmth on her cheeks.

"What's in it for me?" he said.

She furrowed her brow. "Uh— sex?"

He laughed. She wondered if she'd said something wrong, but he shrugged and said, "Fair point," grinning all the while. He leaned in just a bit closer. "Look, Hermione. Before I agree to this, I need to test the waters first. See if there's any compatibility between us."

She nodded. That made sense. But first, she had to be clear about something. "No kissing on the mouth."

He cocked his head. "But—"

"No buts, Charlie Weasley. I have terms for this agreement." She pulled a paper out of her back pocket and unfolded it. "No kissing. Too intimate. No oral, at least not unless undeniably necessary. The point of this is for me to learn to enjoy intercourse, not foreplay. For that matter, foreplay should last no longer than fifteen minutes, and intercourse must last longer than twenty." She scanned over her terrible handwriting. "Very dim lighting. I have quite a bit of wobbly bits I'm not keen on you looking at." By now, Charlie was laughing again, which she tried to take as a good sign. "The objective is to get me to have seven orgasms in one night of unbridled passion."

Charlie whistled. "Seven in seven, eh? You're not making this easy for me, are you?"

"Well, I have to leave early on the seventh day of my stay, so more like seven in six. But no matter." She put her hand on her hip. "Well? Are you in?"

He pursed his lips. "Let me touch you. Just a little. To—"

"Test the waters," she finished.

He nodded.

She closed her eyes. "Do your worst."

She gasped when she felt his lips nuzzling her neck. He was very gentle, dragging his mouth past her collarbone, sucking just a little at the top of her cleavage. He had one hand on the small of her back, and the other, at her waist, which slid up her ribcage and over her breast. She gasped again and found herself arching against the cup of his hand.

By now, his tongue was practically inside her cleavage, and her mouth dropped wide open with a soundless _oh_ when he peeled the cup of her bra back and wrapped his lips around her nipple.

The noises coming from her mouth were both embarrassing and completely novel. She didn't know she could reach that particular, breathy pitch, but here she was, doing it again as Charlie sucked the pebble of her breast in deeper.

He stopped abruptly, pulling her top up and leaning back. She was certain that if the sofa weren't underneath her, she'd be collapsed on the floor.

Charlie was looking at her rather peculiarly. His breath was fast and his lips were reddened to match the flush in his cheekbones and ears. His eyes, in particular, were entrancing, the black of his pupils intoxicatingly wide. He swallowed. "I agree to your terms." His voice was hoarse.

She nodded, taking a long breath. "Okay. Shall we move this to the bedroom?"


	3. A Very Nice Tallywacker

Charlie's bedroom was only marginally bigger than hers, but, she noted happily, his bed was rather enormous and comfy-looking.

Two lamps were on a bit bright. Hermione could practically see the cellulite on her thighs through her jeans.

" _Dim_ lighting," she reminded him firmly. He gave her a half smile, took out his wand and cast down the lamps until there was the lowest of glows. She nodded and promptly threw off her sweater.

Charlie stood frozen for a bit, like he didn't know what to do. She flung her bra off next, wondering if it would be too un-sexy to bark at him to get bloody naked _now_ , already. Maybe adding _please_ at the end would help?

He stared at her breasts as she pulled her belt off. She knew they were jiggling in an unappealing manner, but he didn't look put off at all. In fact, as though enchanted, he took several steps closer to her, eyes on her chest the whole while.

She reached for the button of her jeans when his large hands edged in the way, drawing the line of her zipper down. "Isn't undressing one another a necessary part of sex?" he asked.

Not really, not according to Hermione's definition, but somehow, his hands on her hips made her unable to speak. Instead, she swallowed and nodded as he lowered himself along with her jeans, on his knees by the time she'd kicked them off, his face at her hips. He leaned and ran his lips over the curve of her lower belly and she shivered. He spent some time kissing each of her hips, his hands gliding over her thighs and up, up, to fondle her breasts. She watched, her breath heaving, smirking when he looked up and winked.

Hermione couldn't believe how wet she was already. This has got to be a bloody record for me, she thought. She wondered why getting turned on was more on the easy side this go. Was is because there were no relationship-driven expectations? Or maybe it was that Charlie looked like literal sex on a broom? Fuck, he was pulling down her knickers now. Certainly he'd see how aroused she was.

"No oral." She made her voice firm, watching as he tossed her knickers somewhere behind him. She knew it wasn't sexy to say, but he was still on his knees in front of her, after all.

"You said it was okay if-"

"If it were _necessary_ , Charlie. If I'm _begging_ for it, essentially."

"One of your more silly rules, in my opinion." He smiled at her but she frowned in return. She really was sensitive and serious about this, couldn't he see that?

But then he slid a finger along the slit of her pussy and her knees nearly gave out. "You're very wet, Hermione, do you know that?" He stared up at her as his calloused fingers drew slow, excruciating circles along her clitoris. "Do you know how bad I want to eat you out right now?"

Fuck. She already regretted that silly, stupid rule. But he stood up before she could shove her crotch in his mouth. "How would you like me?" he asked, gesturing to his body.

Remembering what he said about undressing, she pushed up his shirt, and when it was on the floor, she ran her fingers over the soft hair of his chest and down the firm lines of his abs. Christ, she thought. These weren't just washboard-variety abs. They were pack-up, take-to-the-beach and ride-the-waves-on abs. Or put-hinges-on and make-a-bloody-hardwood-door-abs. Or ice-cream-churner and lick-the-bottom-of-the-bowl- okay, that one made no sense, but still. These were _beautiful_ abs.

She glanced up to find an amused expression on his face. Hermione realized she'd been fondling his belly-or lack thereof- for the better part of their current foreplay. Jesus, she thought. No wonder men, with her, tried to get it over with as soon as possible.

He held her shoulders as she lowered her head to lap at his nipples, which he seemed to enjoy, if the soft grunt gave any indication. She undid his trousers, jabbing them down along with his boxers. She ran her fingers along the dragonfire scars on his hips before settling her eyes right on Charlie's...

"Tallywacker."

He barked a laugh. " _What_?"

Hermione cleared her thought. "You have a very nice tallywacker, there."

For some reason, this made him laugh much harder.

She wrapped her hand around it, sliding her thumb over its weeping tip. That certainly stopped his laughing.

"You're not very shy," he said, his breath caught.

"Why would I be? It's just a pocket rocket."

Charlie laughed again, nearly doubled over, so Hermione tightened her grip and wanked him hard. He slowly straightened, his eyes hooded and glazed. He reached for her, returning his fingers to her clit, and she yelped.

She had no idea where Charlie'd learned to massage a clit, but at some point she had to let go of his plonker to simply cling to his shoulders and grind herself on his hand. He liked her moans, she gathered, noticing his candlestick twitch along with her vocalizations.

After rolling back for some time, her eyes darted just behind him at his clock. "Oh!" she said, jumping back. "It's been fifteen minutes. We should move on to intercourse now."

Charlie stared at her for a second before giving her a half-smile. "Yes, madam."

On the bed, she motioned for Charlie to go on top. They may as well start with the basics.

His weight felt delicious over her, and she thought it was just too bad that things were going to be cocked-up- and not in a good way- from here on out.

Charlie looked eager, proven by how quickly he entered her. He paused for a moment to groan and roll his eyes back. "You're— _gods_ — you're tight."

Hermione shrugged. "Thank you...?"

He snorted over her shoulder and started to thrust. He gasped when she tightened around him, and grunted when she lifted her hips to meet his. He moaned when she maneuvered her legs up so that the backs of her knees met his shoulders, allowing him to go very deep.

Charlie was really, really into it. Hermione supposed that was nice, at least.

She sighed and found her attention wandering out the window. The moon had lit up the clouds all around it. What sort were those again? Nimbus? They looked like a moonlit silk, wrinkling up the sky. Hermione wondered if it would snow tonight.

"Where are you?" Charlie asked, his hand on her cheek.

She jerked her attention on him. "I'm here, Charlie."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," she said. "I was wondering if it would snow or not."

Charlie laughed, his cock twitching inside her in a bit of a pleasing way. She closed her eyes until he was finished, focusing on the sensation. " _Tell me_ if you start thinking about the weather. Or anything like that. Alright?" He pulled back slowly, sliding his joystick back in with equal speed. "What's that feel like?"

"Well." Hermione frowned. "It _feels like_ you're polishing your hotdog with my taco."

Charlie blinked and roared with laughter again, causing Hermione to gasp and lift her hips slightly against his convulsing cock. Christ, that felt good.

"What's with these euphemisms?" Charlie asked finally. "What's wrong with 'penis' and 'pussy'?"

She scoffed. "'Pussy,' first of all, is also a euphemism. And I don't know! Okay! It just makes things more interesting."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and put his weight on his left side, sliding his right fingers to her clit. She gasped at the dual sensation of his beef branch inside her and fingers upon her. He pumped into her fast and slow, increasing the pressure on her clit with each thrust.

Hermione arched into him, her nails in his shoulders. "That's cheating," she said between moans.

"You said nothing about touching."

She didn't respond. Well, unless you counted mews, whines and warbled versions of Charlie's name as words. Which Hermione did not.

Coming with a— fine, a _penis_ — inside her was rapturous. It wasn't like the orgasm itself was the strongest she'd ever had (thanks to experiences with her own fingers in the bath). But it was _good_ , and lasted a _good_ amount of time, and clenching a honest-to-god corn-on-the-cob during was... Merlin. It was _good._ Even if it meant her vocabulary was now dismantled.

She realized he must've finished, too, because when she returned to earth, he was collapsed on her. She glanced at the clock and was horrified to see that it'd taken over thirty minutes.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she said quickly. "That's what I'm trying to work on."

Charlie lifted his head. "Are you kidding? That was brilliant. Perfect. It wasn't long at all."

Hermione looked up, pursing her lips. Could he be right about that?

He gave her a wicked grin. "Can I lick your pussy yet?"

She smacked him. Even though his question made her clit throb immediately, she wasn't ready for comments on how she looked, tasted or smelled. Said comments made cunnilingus very difficult to enjoy, which was truly a loss, because when done properly, (as in silently), it usually made her come very... _good_.

"I'll take that as a no." He let his head fall back on her shoulder.

"Let's just sleep for now," Hermione said. "Tonight was more or less successful. So let's not push it."

"Yes, madam." She felt him smile against her skin.

Fifteen minutes later, her teeth brushed and body dressed in one of Charlie's linen button-downs, she fell asleep with one of his muscled, ice-cream-churner arms draped over her hips.

* * *

 _Thank you for your reviews! They are healing my cold and giving me life._


	4. Roasted Acorns

_So, a bit of Charlie's point-of-view appeared as I edited this chapter. Let me know if you like it and I'll include more for the fifth installment!_

* * *

Most people assumed Charlie Weasley was the free-spirited, adventurous-type, having moved to a dragon reserve out of the country two weeks after graduating from Hogwarts. And, certainly, there were elements to him that were free and adventurous- he was trying as hard as he could to allow dragon-riding training on the reserve for Merlin's sake.

But Charlie also liked order. It was one of the reasons he left home as soon as he could— the Burrow was the imagestic definition of disorderly, and he always felt mild apprehension anytime he neared his childhood home.

Charlie liked labels and organization and his strict schedule on the reserve. It's what made him phenomenal at his job. So when his mother had floo called him to tell him Hermione Granger would be visiting and wouldn't he be a dear and let her stay over, she was _family_ after all, well. He wasn't enthusiastic in the least.

Granger was a nice girl, and he appreciated the efforts she made at the Ministry to get the reservation their grants and such, but he'd _just_ started treating dryscale on the Opaleyes with a newly discovered herb, the blood red motherwort. And he was _right_ in the middle of a proposal to test Riat with riding, which could lead to an entirely new department within the keeper force. Oh, _and_ he had a new team of keeper trainees portkeying in by the end of the week he'd need to prepare for.

So, no, he wasn't too keen on hosting his little brother's friend. But the tone in his mother's voice bordered on howler-volume, and he knew he'd be on the receiving end of at least a dozen of said missives were he to let Granger just stay at one of the guest cabins. At thirty-seven, the last thing he needed was a Molly Weasley howler to drop in his lap in the middle of lunch with his work colleagues.

So Charlie Weasley reordered his week around Granger. He left the motherwort applications to a trusted subordinate, was approved for an extension on the proposal, and decided to focus all non-Granger time on training prep.

When she arrived, he scarcely paid Granger enough attention, trying to balance his duties while exposing her to the newer species, but she certainly had ways to throw off his strongly-fought-for balance. Her strange sex jokes, for one. He felt positively perverted to be thinking of sex around her, even just discussing mating habits of the Longhorns.

But then his workmate asked him who the pretty lady was and if was she single. "She's too young for you, mate," Charlie'd told Leif. And then another keeper, Andre, had some inappropriate comments on the shape of Granger's arse. "That's my littlest brother's best friend," he'd growled. But then when he caught even Howard, his supervisor, with his gaze firmly on her hips, Charlie finally calculated Granger's age. Well, first he had to calculate Percy's age, going down the step-ladder of his siblings, then realized… Granger was _thirty_.

No reason to see her any different, he told himself.

Oh, but then she went along and threw _that_ note-to-self all off-balance as well, with the bulging-bosoms sweater-thing and skinny jeans she wore to dinner. It pained him to not ogle or even glance at her below the eyes, lest she think he was some sort of pervert.

Granger _was_ his youngest brother's best friend.

Only she wasn't so young anymore, was she?

Then, of course, ten minutes after they got back to the cabin, she propositioned him with sex. Or _intercourse_ , as she'd put it.

He'd tried to put up a fight. He really did. Or at least, that's what he told himself when he ran his fingers over the curve of her hip as she slept in his bed that morning. The way said hip dipped into her high, narrow waist beguiled him for at least twenty minutes, until she stirred awake and he pretended he'd been doing anything but touching her like a creep.

And so now, introducing Granger to Anastasia, the newest Moroccan Featherback, he found himself with the opposite problem of yesterday. He couldn't focus on anything but _her_.

She'd chew on the end of her pen and he'd trail off mid-sentence, enraptured with the pads of her mauve lips and that dark freckle on the edge of the bottom one.

And when she interrupted him to ask questions, her eyes on her clipboard, he'd remember how she moaned and arched against him as he sucked her tit.

And when she looked up at the Featherback's angular neck, he remembered how her eyes rolled as she came under him, shuddering against his flesh.

He wondered about her claim to not enjoy sex, since she seemed to like it just fine last night. But he wasn't going to question it aloud. No, Merlin. If Hermione Granger wanted to fuck him every day this week, he was going to bloody well let her.

Gods, if she wanted to fuck right at that moment on top of Anastasia... well, he knew he would consider it for far longer than he cared to admit.

x

"Charlie! You're doing it again," Hermione hissed.

Charlie swung his eyes up from her chest. "Sorry," he stammered.

"It's fine," she said. "Just— try to be discreet, yeah? You're distracting me."

Charlie smirked. "If you'd really like a distraction, Granger—"

"Stop," she said, smacking his arm that now wrapped around her waist, his hand squeezing her hip. "We have tonight for… for _that_."

To be perfectly honest, as much as she pretended annoyance, Hermione loved _finally_ having Charlie look at her like he wanted nothing and no one more. She had no idea what changed in him— well, maybe she did have a bit of an idea, they did engage in intercourse, after all— but she wasn't going to complain. Not too hard, anyhow.

"Why wait until tonight?" he asked, his hand lowering to her arse.

"It's always good to be fed and rested before coital activities." She drew cartoon dragons on her notes, acting as though she didn't notice the way his hand lingered on her hip before he let go. "It increases our chance of success regarding the objective of our agreement."

"Alright." His voice was still rather husky. "Let's move on to the Moonhairs, then."

Charlie, as it turned out, had no intentions of waiting until after dinner. He tugged her shirt off the second they walked in from surveying the Antartican Jeweltooth, leaving pink bruises all over her breasts before tugging her skirt to the floor.

He had her on the sofa, stroking her clit until she came all around his manroot. Before she finished shaking, he turned her over and entered her from behind. He worked his hand on her clitoris aggressively once more, drawing another orgasm from her before coming so hard himself, he fell to the floor.

Hermione crawled down next to him, stroking his hair as he caught his breath. "I feel like touching is cheating," she said.

"Why? It's a part of sex."

"A lot of women can have vaginal orgasms from intercourse alone. That's what I want."

He opened an eye at her. "You're bloody hard to please, you know that, right?"

Hermione's lazy smile dropped. She knew he was teasing her, but having heard similarly from exes past, and not in a teasing manner at all, it was somewhat... triggering.

She stood, grabbing her clothes. "I'm hungry, Charlie."

"Is everything alright?" He pushed up, eyeing her closely.

"I'm hungry," she repeated. "I get grumpy with no food in me."

He didn't look convinced, but he simply said, "Yes, madam. How does fish and chips sound?"

"Perfect."

Though Charlie tugged at the button of her jeans when they returned from dinner, Hermione yawned loudly and said she was much too tired.

"You're sleeping with me, right, though?" he asked, his hand grazing her face.

"If— if you want me to."

He laughed. "I find I rather like extracting myself from this beast you call hair first thing in the morning."

"Oh, shut up," she said, smacking him. But she did curl up in his bed after showering, and he pulled her to him immediately, nuzzling said beast-hair with his face, kissing her good night on the temple before they slept.

x

Their next amorous encounter was a bit… crappy. All Hermione could think the whole while were his words from the day before, _bloody hard to please_ , in particular, and she couldn't get into it, no matter how bloody good Charlie looked fucking her on the edge of the bed, his muscles and scars gleaming in the dim light.

"What is it?" he finally asked.

"I always take too long," she said. "I don't mean to. I'm sorry. If you want to finish, you can. It won't bother me at all."

He pulled out of her and sighed. She wondered if she'd ruined everything when he lifted her torso so that she sat up. He bent on one knee, until he was eye-level with her. "How can you not see how perfect you are?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You, Hermione Granger. You're beautiful and clever and _lovely_. How do you not see it?"

Hermione snorted. "You're the only bloke who thinks those things of me."

"Lies. Half the wizards working here have asked me if you're available."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. And what did you tell these wizards?"

He shrugged. "Well, no, of course. Not while you're here with me." He grinned and leaned in, his lips dangerously close to hers. She turned her face at the last moment, half-regretting it, but promptly stopped thinking when Charlie's mouth reached her nipple instead.

He made use of his mouth over most of her body, avoiding her center, especially when she snapped her legs together as tightly as she could when his tongue reached her thighs. By the time he was leaving open-mouthed kisses on her feet, she was ready to give his swinging cod another go.

He turned and lifted her hips so that his public bone slammed into her clit with each thrust. His balls slapped her arse, which somehow added to the eroticism of the sensations.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "Don't stop that— don't—please…"

She came in fifteen minutes, laughing deliriously for several minutes afterward.

"What is it?" Charlie said, smiling.

"Your— your—" she burst into a snorty laugh again. "Your garden gnomes," she finally finished, wheezing.

"My what?"

"Your roasted acorns!"

"Hermione, I've no idea—"

"You know!" she said, giggling. "Your swamp nuts!"

He simply stared, shaking his head. "Hermione—"

"Oh, bloody hell, Charlie. Your bollocks!"

He glanced down. "Yeah? What about them?"

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, still grinning. "I just like them. That's all."

Charlie buried his face in her belly, laughing hard. "I'm glad. I'm rather fond of them, myself," he said, kissing her belly button.

Hermione kept smiling as he drew her to his warmth for sleep.

Maybe she wasn't broken after all.

x

On the fourth night, Charlie finally got to tongue her. And Hermione certainly wasn't speaking of her mouth.

She let her guard down. This time, after all, she was the one kissing and sucking his body, lingering over his scars and sensitive spots. She was wondering if he'd let her mouth near his gaggle stick— double standards, after all— when he flipped her over and pressed his lips to her cunt.

He paused for a beat, and she wriggled, wondering if she'd go mad to the feel of his hot breath on her.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Charlie…"

"Yes?"

"Just… just do it already…"

He smiled, his lips spreading over hers. "I seem to recall there being a requirement for begging…"

"Charlie, _please_ —"

And that was all it took.

He moaned as he licked her out, which was _such_ a turn on, knowing he actually liked it. And Merlin Almighty, it was good. Better than good. She lifted her hips to get him deeper, harder, the slick, wet warmth of his tongue teasing her opening, her clit, her, gods, who _knew_ what he was doing now, only that she was… nearly… there…

She screamed when it happened, when the orgasm wrecked her body, her pussy throbbing against his tongue. It lasted for so long, Hermione wondered if it was a three-in-one deal or something. He lapped her until she finished, pushing up when it subsided. "Fuck, Hermione. That was so fucking sexy."

She whined when he entered her. "Harder," she said. He complied, pushing a leg here, angling his hips there. She came two more times.

Two. More. Times.

A week ago, she wouldn't have believed it.

But, as she lay in his arms, listening to his breath become deeper, slower, a new desire warmed her chest.

Hermione really, really wanted to kiss Charlie Weasley. On the mouth.


	5. Yodeling in the Valley

_Our fifth and final installment! Thank you for the lovely reviews and support. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Charlie woke Hermione up the next morning by grabbing her hips and promptly flipping her over.

"Merlin, Charlie!" she'd squeaked as he hiked her arse up. "What the—oh. Oh! _Oh, gods_ …" She buried her head in her pillow as he— cunniligued, was it? Or maybe silver-tongued her beaver? Yodeled her valley? No matter what one called it, in record time she was screaming and convulsing against his mouth. When she finally had the strength to lift her head, he was singing away in the shower.

"Why don't we eat our lunch in the breakroom?" he asked her as they grabbed burritos from a food truck, having spent an exhausting morning wrangling the Moonhairs.

"Sure," she responded. As soon as they walked in, he took her bags to the table, turned, and locked all the doors with his wand.

Hermione tilted her head. "Charlie? What—"

And he dropped to his knees in front of her.

" _What_ do you think you're—" She stopped as he reached into her skirt to slide her knickers over. "Charlie." Her voice was a tone of warning, but, like that morning, his tongue won over hers.

He palmed her arse the whole while, pulling her closer and closer. The orgasm took her by surprise and she nearly fell on top of his head, trying as hard as she could to keep quiet. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a happily sated ball afterward, but Charlie had other plans.

He laid her on the dining table and proceeded to bang her so hard, one of the table legs needed mending when they were through. Hermione made certain to disinfect the whole dining room, as well. "Why?" Charlie asked. "We keepers spent half our time in dragon dung as it is."

"Because it's just good manners," she responded, ignoring the warmth in her belly from his smirk.

That night, he popped in the shower, nearly scaring the magic right out of her. Before she could get over the shock, he sat her on the edge of the tub and licked and licked and licked her, until she came with her head smacked against the tile.

Then he licked her until she came again.

"What is with you?" Hermione asked afterward. She wasn't certain if she'd feel her legs anytime soon, so she didn't even bother getting up, or even closing her thighs for that matter. "Do I taste like firewhisky or something?"

"Making up for lost time," Charlie replied. And he pulled her up, pressed her against the wall, slid his meat rod inside and gave her yet _another_ orgasm.

That night, as he held her in bed, Hermione wondered if it was possible to get tired of orgasms.

She certainly did not think so.

x

On the sixth night, the day before she was supposed to leave, Charlie broke another rule.

He placed her on his dresser, pumping full-speed. She wrapped her legs around him and arched her breasts along the hard lines of his chest. They hadn't even done their fifteen minutes of foreplay yet, but Hermione was certain she was going to come anyway.

"Hermione," Charlie said gruffly.

She lifted her head.

"Look at me." Hermione had no trouble complying, beautiful man that he was. His eyes were so dark, his jaw tight. But as the orgasm threatened her again, her eyes fluttered. "Look at me," he repeated.

She pulled her eyes on him again. "Charlie," she whimpered. "I'm- oh, I'm— I'm—"

And when she started to convulse around him, he pressed his lips to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Charlie Weasley tasted like chocolate and applewood and whisky, all mixed with the pine and orange smell of him. He was salty and sweet and just, gods. She loved kissing him, about as much as she loved fucking him. And that was saying quite a lot.

When they broke the kiss, he rested his head on her shoulder. "I have to make you come at least six more times. Per our agreement."

They weren't to kiss per their agreement, too, but Hermione thought better of mentioning it. She'd wanted it, after all— more desperately than she cared to admit.

Instead, she laughed, running her nails down his back, delighting in the gooseflesh of his skin as a result. "No. I'm one-hundred and fifty percent satisfied with the outcome of our agreement. You've done enough."

"I'm not sure I could have enough of you," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

"Come again, Charlie?"

But when he looked at her, he just shook his head. "Shower?"

She smiled. "Bath. Please. I'm sore."

In the tub, he pulled her into his lap and held her for the better part of an hour.

"I like being with you," he told her, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, Hermione thought that this— being wrapped up in Charlie Weasley's arms in his bath, not needing to say anything at all— might be even more intimate than sex or oral or kissing.

When he fucked her for the final time that week, he did it so slow and hard, staring into her eyes the entire time. He made sure to come with her, stroking her clit just how she liked, leaving the softest kiss on her lips before they fell asleep.

x

Charlie Weasley was pretty sure he hadn't had that much sex in a week... ever.

After she came to him with her _request_ that first time seven days before, she had no need to initiate it again. He was nearly embarrassed by how eager he was for her, how he couldn't wait until they were even through the door most of the time.

But then he'd think of the way she'd gasp when he reached for her knickers. How she'd bite his shoulder if her orgasm was particularly strong. Or the way she'd kissed him when he finally got the nerve to go there. She kissed him like she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

Worth it, he thought. Worth his dignity in every respect.

He knew he'd miss her— and not just for the fucking— but he wasn't prepared for how _quiet_ his cabin was now that she'd portkeyed back to London.

Nearly all evidence of her was gone. Charlie wasn't sure how he felt about that.

And then he found a pouch of galleons on the edge of the guest bed, labeled 'Reparations.'

"Jesus, Granger," he growled. Shoving the pouch in his pocket, he turned to floo-call Harold.

"I'm gonna need a couple days," Charlie said.

"You alright?" Harold responded. "You haven't taken time off in— Godric, Charlie. I can't remember the last time you needed time."

"Just a thing," Charlie responded gruffly.

"Not a problem, Weasley. Just make sure you're here Saturday for the new recruits, yeah?"

"Got it."

x

Hermione thought she'd be _ecstatic_ at the end of her experiment. Her goal. Objective. Whatever. Were she to be successful, (which she _was_ , more so than she could've ever hoped to be), she thought she'd be bouncing off the walls like a Wizarding-Wheezes-charmed cauldron.

Instead, she felt worse… even worse than _before_. And she had no bloody idea why.

She _could_ enjoy sex! She had, in fact, enjoyed the best sex of her life _all week long_. It was the best birthday gift she had ever given herself.

But Charlie. The look on his face that morning, as she left for her international port key. He was so gloomy.

So was she.

But they weren't _supposed_ to grow _feelings_. Per their agreement! It was just a series of shags for the betterment of Hermione's life. That was all.

Just a series of shags. Hermione repeated this to herself as she went about her travels. As soon as she got home, she drank a great deal of tea to calm herself down.

And after that, she switched to firewhisky.

x

Hermione was nearly ready for work the next morning when she heard a knocking on her door. Well, it was more like a banging. A severe banging.

Wand out, she cautiously approached the source of the nearly-cataclysmic beats. She opened the door to find...

"Charlie?"

Charlie looked particularly delicious— muscles bulging out of a pale blue shirt, his jeans tight enough that Hermione made a mental note to check his arse momentarily. His expression, however, told a different story. His face was red, his jaw tight. "What the fuck is this?" he said, lifting the sack of coins she'd left at his place.

"What do you mean?" Hermione shook her head. "It says 'reparations' on the front. That explains it, doesn't it?"

"You _paid_ me for sex?"

"Merlin, Charlie! Come inside, would you!" She ushered him in, faintly registering the warmth in her whole body at the sight of him. She shut the door quickly. "It wasn't for the sex, idiot." Hermione smacked his arm. "It was for me taking up your space! And eating your food! And drinking your booze."

Charlie's eyebrows dropped. "Oh." He blinked and shook his head. "I still don't want it." He thrust the satchel in her hands.

She took it, idly dropping it on a nearby table. "You could've just owled it, Charlie." She crossed her arms. "What are you _really_ doing here?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She ran her hand on his arm. "It's alright. I mean, whatever you need to say—"

He leaned down and kissed her.

It was rough. It was glorious. Hermione opened her mouth to his tongue and shoved hers in his, moaning as his erection jutted into her hip.

Charlie pulled back abruptly. "I want you."

Hermione nodded. "I want _you_ , Charlie."

He swallowed. "Mum wants me to apply for a position in Portsmouth."

Hermione laughed. "Does she, now? I don't know about that, considering she's only mentioned it to me about six dozen times since learning about the reserve we're building there."

He grinned, nuzzling her neck. "Would you like to be with me, Hermione? If I were to move…"

Her heart felt so large, she could only gasp. After a few moments, she nodded her head. "Fuck, yes, Charlie."

He grinned and kissed her again. And carried her to the bedroom.

 _Eight_ orgasms later, Hermione was able to finally call into work and let them know she was rather occupied for the day. And she _may_ not make it in for another seven.

The End


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